


around the nooks of summer

by orphan_account



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Park Jihoon has been running for ten years. What he doesn't know is that Park Woojin, can be good at running too.





	around the nooks of summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldavn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldavn/gifts).



> to em, thank you for providing such a lovely prompt that i was very excited to write for.
> 
> i wish that i could have more time to develop this further (and have it beta'ed and edited), and it ended up turning into a somewhat, rather self-indulgent fic. 
> 
> nevertheless, i hope you'll enjoy it despite my nervousness as to whether or not it'll be something that you like.

“You’re joking with me, aren’t you?”

Jinyoung raises a single eyebrow. “What makes you think I am?”

Jinyoung’s response only makes Jihoon groan louder, shuffling his face into his open palms. His hands are cold against his warm cheeks, and Jihoon swears that it isn’t because of the anger that’s threatening to drown him when he thinks of what Jinyoung had just informed him.

It’s terrible, really, Jihoon thinks, when he realises the way he’s acting reminds him of the way he was back when he was still a boy, trying to mature too fast against a body that didn’t want to grow up.

To be fair, Jihoon reasons, it isn’t entirely unexpected that he’s acting in such a manner. Jinyoung’s words are the last thing that he wanted to hear, considering that he was all ready to be swimming in royalties after finishing the production for the soon-to-be-released dance track of Kang Daniel, the latest pop idol sensation in South Korea.

It’s like when you’re finally two steps away from reaching the top of the mountain that you’ve been struggling to climb all along, and there’s an awkward rock that hits you out of nowhere, and Jihoon catches himself on it, and he finds himself tumbling back down, and struggling to find his way back up.

There are so many thoughts that are running through Jihoon’s mind, and Jihoon can sense that Jinyoung is waiting for a response from him and Jihoon just settles for an awful, “Ugh” and wonders if he should slam his forehead against the table for an extra effect of just how much he doesn’t fucking want _it_ to happen.

“Is it going to be that bad, hyung?” Jinyoung speaks up. His voice is soft, quite unlike the strong, stubborn front that Jihoon is used to. It makes Jihoon look up, and he almost immediately feels bad, when he sees the regret that begins to pool in the younger’s eyes.

To be honest, JIhoon doesn’t know if it’s going to be _bad_. Bad is a relative, and it’s dependent on the various levels of **SOS: STAGES OF (JIHOON FEELING LIKE HE’S IN A PILE OF) SHIT** that Jihoon feels like he’s in.

But as all the songs of heartbreak and scenes of misery that Jihoon has seen in his entire life, he’s pretty sure that he’s going to be at the peak of **SOS**.

“What do you think, Jinyoungie,” Jihoon sighs. He rests his chin on his arms, and he hopes that he looks as pathetic as a fish out of water (and maybe that would convince Jinyoung to do something about the hopelessly terrible situation that is about to swallow him up).

“I’m going to see my ex agaaaaaain, after like, _ten_ years of avoiding him and convincing myself that he no longer exists on this planet!”

If there is any one thing that Jihoon can always depend on Jinyoung to do, is that Jinyoung always grounds him back to the harsh realities of life. As expected, this time, Jinyoung doesn’t disappoint him:

“Too bad, hyung. You need food to live, a-k-a, you need money,” Jinyoung pauses for a moment to snort haughtily at him, “ _and_ you can’t finish up production for Kang Daniel’s next title track without working with…”

Jihoon covers his ears.

Jinyoung pulls his hands away and whispers right into Jihoon’s ears. Jihoon resists the urge to scream right into Jinyoung’s tiny bean face.

“Your ex-boyfriend, Park Woojin.”

 

—

 

The thing about high school romances is that it sticks to you, in the same way that a leech sticks onto _anything_ for blood, even you don’t fucking want to remember it anymore.

Jihoon tries all sorts of ways to forget about it: tearing up the pictures that captured the both of them in the same frame (but stopping at the last moment as his fingers break at the seams of the photograph because he’s _still_ a sentimental fucker), singing his heart out at the karaoke, drinking shots of _soju_ while pretending that they are some sort of magical potion that is able to work the magic of forgetting in an instant.

But it doesn’t work, and no matter how much Jihoon tries to rub at the wounds of his first fucking love, it forms a scab that remains as a scar, and Jihoon can’t remove it no matter how much Vitamin C serums he uses. (A part of him wants to lodge a complaint against those beauty youtubers that reiterate how much Vitamin C helps with pigmentation scars. It doesn’t fucking work!)

He knows that he’s just being dramatic, but it’s always easier to be angry than to be sad, and Jihoon doesn’t want to admit that he’s sad over Park fucking Woojin, and Jihoon wishes that it isn’t tears that are flowing down his cheeks as he thinks about how they used to be.

Park Jihoon is twenty-eight, but it only takes the mention of Park Woojin, for him to feel like he’s eighteen all over again, back in the summer where the cicadas resound in the backdrop as he whines for Woojin to buy him another orange popsicle because it’s too fucking hot and Woojin always relents, because they are young and so full of hopeful love—and Jihoon wonders just when did that love die out, in the same way that cicadas only come up to the ground for the brief moments of summer, before they end up dying pitifully against the sand; a sign of summer’s end, and too, the sign of the ending of his first love.

 

—

 

But Park Jihoon isn’t eighteen anymore, and running away doesn’t come as easy as it did in the past.

It almost feels like it’s an unsaid expectation of adulthood: that you’re expected to face your problems head-on, even though you don’t know what to expect, even though you don’t have the solutions to the obstacles that you do know lie ahead.

It’s why he promises Jinyoung to fulfil his part of the contract of finishing the production of Kang Daniel’s title track, and it’s why he’s standing in front of the back entrance to MMO Entertainment.

His heart is a rhythm that’s uncoordinated, that’s unlike any other tracks that he’s produced, and Jihoon tries to calm his unfaithful heart. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, like he’s so _afraid_ to meet Park Woojin again, even though it’s already been ten years, and they should both have already matured from their childlike selves, and learnt to walk the path to adulthood.

“Jihoonie!”

A familiar voice interrupts his awkward pacing, and Jihoon is forced to turn back to the direction of the sound.

Daniel walks up to him, in his all-black ensemble but striking red hair, and Jihoon heaves a sigh of relief that it’s Daniel who’s approaching him, and not, well, _you know who_. Friendly Daniel is the first to sling his arm across Jihoon’s shoulder (and Jihoon frowns at the reminder of how much taller stupid Kang Daniel is), and he tugs Jihoon forward with his weight.

“What are you doing outside here, Jihoonie?” Daniel says, eyes curving up into that smile that won the hearts of so many across the land.

Jihoon wishes that he wasn’t one of them, and he barely manages to get out, “N-nothing. Just well, preparing to go in.”

Even Jihoon himself, can sense how awkward he sounds. If Daniel is suspicious of anything, Jihoon is thankful, because Daniel doesn’t say anything, but instead, starts making a conversation out of gratitude for Jihoon’s help for the production of his new song, and that it’s _definitely_ going to be a success because it’s a Park Jihoon production—

But all the words become white noise in Jihoon’s head, because every step means that he’s closer to meeting Park Woojin again, and Park Jihoon really doesn’t know what to expect.

 

—

 

Park Jihoon is twenty-eight, but he still has mismatching neon shoelaces on his feet, because it somehow, wormed its way into being part of his identity.

But maybe, he should have stuck to his eight-year-old velcro shoes, because maybe then, he wouldn’t fucking fall flat on his face when he enters the dance studio, right in front of Park Woojin’s face.

He doesn’t need to turn to look at Daniel to know that the older is probably facepalming at his stupidity, but when he looks up, there’s a hand that’s extended to help him, but there’s a face that he doesn’t want the fucking help from.

Jihoon wants to laugh at just how _stupid_ the scene is, that it resembles a scenario right out of a drama, and all he can see is Park Woojin’s face staring at him, the hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips and threatening to expose his snaggletooth. He sees the way his Adam’s apple trembles, a subtle hint of suppressing the laughter that would have escaped and Jihoon feels like he’s looking into a kaleidoscope: too many things that hit his eyes in a go that it makes him feel dizzy, and Jihoon isn’t quite sure what he should be focusing on.

But he’s thankful that he still has a working resemblance of common sense, as he takes Woojin’s hand politely and Woojin pulls him up.

It immediately makes him frown, however, when he realises that in the ten years that they haven’t seen each other, that Woojin has grown taller than him. It takes Jihoon a look in the mirror, from the corner of his eyes, to notice how different Woojin has become. He still sees the cheekiness that glints from the blacks of his eyes, but he also sees the subtle differences: the way he’s built muscle mass on his arms and calves, the way the slope of the side of his face has sharpened, the way his hair is dyed a brilliant blonde, and the way that Park Woojin is like Park Woojin, but is a Park Woojin that he no longer recognises.

“Ah,” Daniel interrupts, coming between the two of them. “I should introduce the two of you.”

Jihoon blinks. He doesn’t quite know what to know, almost feeling like he’s back in school, on the first day of class, surrounded in a sea of strangers; only that the person standing in front of him is a familiar stranger.

But Woojin saves Jihoon from the situation of having to speak first, and it’s weird to hear him speak. It’s a low rumble that Jihoon remembers, but it’s also unfamiliar, from the way the Busan _satoori_ had faded into the proper, Seoul speech. “Ah, hyung, there’s no need for that. We go way back.”

Jihoon tries not to react at that, but he feels a twitch at the corner of his lips. Daniel raises an eyebrow, while leaning back with his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Jihoon hurriedly adds on, feeling his feet regain a hold of the gravity that pulls him down onto earth. “We used to be high school…”

He pauses for a moment when he realises that he doesn’t know the right words.

“Classmates,” Woojin quickly supplies.

It draws Jihoon’s attention, like how a moth would be drawn to a flame. Woojin had always been about passionate fire, and Jihoon remembers. But it’s not Park Woojin that draws the attention of his heart, but the words that echo like the remnants of a hot summer breeze against his cheek.

 _Classmates_ , _huh._

So that’s what they were.

“Yeah,” Jihoon nods, willing for his lips to curve up to form a smile.

If there’s anything that Jihoon has worked to better in the ten years that he hasn’t seen Park Woojin, it would be smiling. He’s learnt how to fake a smile, even though his heart is wavering with a torrent of emotions that tell him otherwise. He thinks, that the decade of self-learning must have worked, because Woojin doesn’t say anything, but notions for them to start the preparation for dance practice, and Jihoon moves over to the black couch at the back of the room like a carefully built robot.

Park Jihoon has been running a marathon. He’s been running, running, running since the day they broke up, but it feels like he’s still at the same spot as ten years before, while Park Woojin has moved on to a place that Park Jihoon can’t ever reach.

The air conditioner of the dance studio is turned to a chilly temperature, but Jihoon can feel the summer heat prickling his skin. He can smell the orange popsicle that’s melting against the ground, while he stares at Woojin’s back that isn’t covered by a black muscle tank, but by a white school shirt that is matted with sweat.

A part of him wanted to say: high school _sweethearts_.

  
  


He leaves early that day, even before he sees what Woojin has in store for _his_ song.

 

—

 

It’s dark when Jihoon reaches home.

There’s only a single light coming from his ceiling, where he’d remembered to leave it on. There’s no other sound coming from the silent apartment, apart from the sounds of the city that plays resolutely in the background, and it’s interrupted as Jihoon pours the _soju_ into his cup.

As time passes, Jihoon realises that alcohol is like a key, a key that opens up the forbidden memories that you’ve learnt to suppress in the many years of wanting to forget.

It’s like he’s back in high school, over at Woojin’s house, binge-watching on anime, and he still remembers the words that the main character of Gintama says in the early episodes. Jihoon is a pretentious seventeen-year-old, who’s egged on by Park Woojin, and he jots down pretentious words into his notebook with an ugly scribble “ **GINTAMA QUOTES** ” on the front.

 

> _Sake is sure nice._ __  
> _You can forget all your troubles, if only for a moment._ __  
> _You’ll have to remember them tomorrow, though. And they’ll be even more painful than they were the night before._ _  
> _ _You can’t run away from things like this._   
>  Especially from the things you really want to forget.

At seventeen, Park Jihoon is too young to know the taste of _sake_ or alcohol, but he has troubles that he knows of, as he finds his heart beating a tad too fast when he lands a lingering look on the tanned boy next to him.

At twenty-eight, Jihoon knows the taste of alcohol, of _soju_ and _makgeolli_ and expensive imported _sake_ , but the words of the past still linger in his head and he knows that he hasn’t stopped running away from the time when he was younger, when he ran away from Busan, despite being so fucking in love with Park Woojin.

 

—

 

It helps that he’s hungover from the multiple bottles of _soju_ that he’s consumed. It gives a reason to come into work with a pair of sunglasses. It feels like it’s given him an extra layer of defence, a shield against having to stare directly at Woojin’s figure.

Park Woojin is not 1.8m tall. He isn’t as tall as Kang Daniel, but to Jihoon, it feels like his presence is equally dominating, and Jihoon can’t tear his eyes away no matter how much he wants to.

Woojin does a series of complicated steps that match to the starting melody of the song. It does match well with the rhythm of the beats, but there’s something about the dance sequence that makes Jihoon scrunch up his eyebrows.

He’s never felt the thrill, the adrenaline that would flood one’s veins when it comes to watching others dance. He can’t quite appreciate it in the same way that a dancer would, but Jihoon follows the rhythm of his heart instead, and he decides to speak up when his heart tells him that _no, this isn’t what he wants to see_ , no, this isn’t what he thinks the song is trying to say.

But he respects Woojin and understands that it is hard work that has brought Woojin to where he is today, and he allows Woojin to finish up his existing sequences before he comments.

“I don’t think it’s what the song is trying to say,” Jihoon says honestly.

Jihoon can sense Daniel’s gaze on him, but Jihoon looks straight into Woojin’s eyes instead. “It’s a song about wanting to present a new side of him to his ex-lover, that he wants to show that he’s matured and that he’s no longer the same person; but the choreography right now tells me that he isn’t showing the maturity, but he just wants to have sex with a random hooker.”

It’s only after the words have escaped Jihoon’s lips that he realises that perhaps, he may have been a little too harsh, too vulgar about Woojin’s performance. So he hurriedly adds on, “I’m not saying that it’s a _bad_ choreography, it’s just—”

It’s just like how you run your hand down a stream of cold water after you’re burnt. The pain resides for a second, for the slight moment that it enjoys the respite of the cold, but once the tap is turned off, the red remains and you’re reminded that you’ve burnt your hand.

“So, what do you think we should do instead?” Woojin retorts. His gaze and tone are chilly, and Jihoon doesn’t need to breathe to be able to sense the tension that has grown in the air.

Daniel is smart at the right times despite his image of being a cheerful idiot, and he swings his arm around Woojin’s shoulder. “Ah, well, I thought that it was a good choreography. I liked it, Woojinnie.”

Then he turns to look at Jihoon, “What kind of choreography did you have in mind, Jihoonie?”

“I think it’d be better if there was less of that… well… _sexy_ element,” Jihoon says, scratching at the side of his head.

“Huh,” Woojin mutters. “That means I’d have to rework what I have right now.”

It should have been settling in his bones for some time already, but Jihoon knows what he’s feeling right now, that he feels bad for coming across to be so critical about Woojin’s work. He knows how much hard work Woojin would have put in, given that the work of choreographing and music production isn’t too different, and Jihoon does know what Woojin would feel, or how _he_ would feel if someone were to come across and criticise his work.

But it shouldn’t work, because he isn’t Woojin and Woojin isn’t him, but there’s still a part of Woojin that Jihoon wants to believe still exists, from the Woojin of ten years ago.

Park Jihoon is naive, even after being exposed to the dirtiness of the entertainment industry, and he wants to know that there is still a part of familiarity to Park Woojin.

And his hope doesn’t betray him, because Woojin crosses his arms and says, “But I do think that what I have right now suits the song.”

They are both stubborn bastards who are determined to have their way at the expense of the other. Jihoon remembers the way he’d whine for Woojin to get him orange-flavoured popsicles after waiting for Woojin to be done with soccer club activities, while Woojin would drag him out to play in the winter months even though Jihoon hates the cold, and simply wants to lie under his heated blanket.

And Jihoon knows that neither of them would change their stances, and so he turns over to look at Daniel, the main character of their argument and asks, “What do you think, hyung?”

“Hmm,” Daniel ponders, cheeks squished up as he presses his chin under his arms, “I do agree with Jihoon’s suggestion, that I’d like for it to have a rather mature image rather than sexy, but I also do like parts of Woojin’s choreography right now. So maybe we could work to compromise, and adopt parts of this and that?”

“Huh,” Woojin shrugs. “I guess there’s that.”

Daniel nods with a grin, and Jihoon is forced to break into a small smile too.

 

—

 

“So, want to tell me what’s up between you and Woojin?”

Jihoon looks up from where he’d been stuffing his face with some fruits (in an attempt to staunch his hunger, but remain healthy at the same time.) Daniel settles into the seat across from him and picks up a strawberry and pushes it into his mouth.

“We graduated from high school and we didn’t see each other for ten years,” Jihoon replies, looking down at his fruits basket that’s only dwindling.

Daniel doesn’t reply, and Jihoon knows that he isn’t convinced by the answer that Jihoon had provided, and Jihoon sighs.

He pushes the fruit basket slightly to the side, and looks up into Daniel’s eyes. “We dated.”

Jihoon can hear the sigh escape from Daniel’s lips and Daniel says, “It’s the first time that I’m seeing you act like this, Jihoon.”

Now that Jihoon thinks about, it’s been several years since he’s first gotten to know Daniel, who came out freshly from an idol survival program, and won the hearts of all the girls across the country, which enabled him to become the solo singer that he is today. As an up and coming music producer, Jihoon was also tasked to produce his debut solo track, which was a hit song, and then, the rest became history.

“Well,” Jihoon laughs softly. “It’s hard for anyone to get over their first love proper.”

It makes Daniel laugh too.

Neither of them know what else to say, so they finish up the rest of Jihoon’s strawberries and then, Daniel excuses himself to go back to practising for his upcoming comeback.

He’s more than convinced that Woojin had managed to move on from the past that he’s an “I’M GOOD” while Jihoon is still stuck in wanting to believe that there are parts of Woojin that hasn’t changed from ten years ago. He doesn’t know if this is naivety or hope, but maybe, he’s just searching for a warmth that he missed.

 

—

 

Honestly, Jihoon should have seen it coming.

He’s sitting in a hotpot restaurant, waiting for Daniel to show up. Jihoon isn’t too sure how long he’s been waiting for, but it should have been some time already considering that he’s had to plug his phone to a portable charger and feeling the yellow light warm him up from above.

It’s only a moment later when the doors to the private room opens, and Daniel walks in, but he’s followed by other figures behind.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Jihoonie!” Daniel smiles apologetically.

“Thanks for the free lunch then,” Jihoon grins back. He takes a quick glance of the people accompanying Daniel, and he swallows the lump of saliva that had unknowingly found its way to his throat when his eyes land on Woojin. “You guys had practice?”

“Yeah,” Daniel nods. “We showered, though.”

“Good,” Jihoon snorts, sliding the menu over to Daniel. “I haven’t ordered yet though.”

It’s always easier to distract himself with food, and Jihoon does so: stuffing his mouth with the various meats and vegetables, than have to look at Woojin in the eye. While all of them are aware of the company’s policy of “no drinking”, it only takes several minutes for the other dancers to start ordering the beer and soju, and when one of them starts drinking, it’s a domino effect, and everyone starts pouring the alcohol into small cups.

Soju is a smooth burn in his throat, and it reminds himself that he isn’t in a place that he can freely wear his heart on his sleeve, that Woojin is here and he is someone who’s still chained by the memories of the past, and he can’t help himself from acting unnaturally in front of everyone.

His hands move faster than his brain can absorb the information, and Jihoon finds himself downing shots after shots, and his mind is a blur that he can’t process.

  


—

 

Jihoon isn’t too sure what happens after, but he does feel himself regaining a hold on reality after he’s greeted with a gush of stale, warm air upon exiting the restaurant. There’s an arm that’s supporting his figure, and there’s a warmth that hits too close to home, too close for comfort for Jihoon’s liking.

“I’ve sent you his address,” Jihoon can barely make out Daniel’s voice, and he strains his ears to listen out for his words. “You’ll be alright, right?”

“Yeah, hyung.”

_Huh?_

It’s a voice that Jihoon didn’t think would be the one responding.

But it’s the only voice that Jihoon can put to the scent of warm cotton that is interlinked with nodes of pear. It smells like the deodorant that Jihoon would insist Woojin use after soccer practice, but Jihoon isn’t too sure if it smells like that because there’s a haze that clouds his senses, or that—Jihoon cuts the thought off right there. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to wish for it to all come crumbling down.

Neither of them speak as Woojin pulls him into the cab. And neither do they as the cab drives on, and the only sound comes from the screeching of tires, the rustling of clothes against the taxi leather, and the tapping of the driver’s fingers against the steering wheel.

Woojin continues supporting Jihoon even after they reach their destination and it’s a short walk towards Jihoon’s apartment. They take slow steps to the lift, waiting in the lift in silence until the **Ding!** interrupts their solitude and Woojin brings him out of the lift.

“What’s your passcode?” Woojin asks when they reach the front of Jihoon’s apartment door.

it’s the first time that they have properly met each other’s gazes tonight, and Jihoon feels himself sinking further into the self-induced haze. He feels like he’s washed in tones of sepia and orange, looking at a Woojin who doesn’t quite exist anymore. Jihoon takes in loud breaths and as he feels the warmth enter his lungs, it makes him feel that he’s back to the summer of the past and he’s back to being a foolish, stupid, young teenager who runs on the voices of his heart, rather than the words of caution that his brain tries to send out.

He feels it before his mind processes it through the heat haze.

It’s a warmth and a softness that he never quite knew that he missed so much. Not until this moment that he feels his own lips on Woojin’s own, and he feels enveloped by all the memories, of all the shared times that they spent together.

He’s playing with fire, playing with his own heart; and the expectations _do_ come falling apart when he feels a hard shove against his chest.

He doesn’t dare to look up, doesn’t dare to look at Woojin’s face and he realises that even after all these years, cowardice remained embedded within his body.

“You can’t do that to me, Jihoon-ah.”

 

—

 

Jihoon learns that Woojin knows how to run away too.

 

—

 

Time flies, just like the ten years that separated them, and there’s only a week left before Daniel’s comeback.

It doesn’t take a genius to sense the thick layer of tension that envelopes whenever Woojin and JIhoon are in the same room.

But it does take a Kang Daniel to intervene _again_ , and they are both trapped in the same dance practice studio. Jihoon wonders if he’s too naive, too easy to trick, for he’s always believing Daniel’s lack of a motive, and it’s why he finds himself in situations like now and then.

Woojin’s sitting at the other end of the studio, packing up while the sweat still causes his shirt to stick to his skin like a second layer. There’s a vibration from his pockets that makes Jihoon pick out his phone and the message from Daniel reads:

 

> _We aren’t letting you out until you guys have talked!_

When shit comes crumbling down, it’s always easier to be angry, to act one on the fiery emotions that engulf your rationality. It’s easy to fight and shout and yell, and it’s hard to say the words that Jihoon truly wants to say.

A lump of saliva balls up within his throat, and Jihoon wishes that there was an easy way to get the ball of emotions to be translated into words, in the same way that it’s so easy for Google to translate languages. It doesn’t have to be perfect. All Jihoon wants is for the feelings to get across, and Jihoon struggles to find the right words.

It’s a sharp thud, of Woojin closing the CD player that breaks Jihoon’s train of thoughts, flushes out the torrent of emotions and feelings that threatens to drown Jihoon and Jihoon takes a huge breath and says:

“I’m sorry.”

Jihoon tries to stifle the small laughter that wants to erupt from within him, from the way Woojin’s eyes widen. He isn’t sure if it’s shock or surprise. Maybe it’s a mix of everything. Jihoon isn’t sure. But he knows that words are tools, and while he’s a master of suppressing all his feelings, he learns that if he doesn’t say anything, then, the only thing that is going to happen is him remaining stuck in the loop of misery and sadness that has kept him shackled in the past ten years.

He doesn’t know what he wants to happen. He doesn’t know if it means that he wants Woojin to look at him in the same way as he did ten years ago. But what Jihoon knows he wants is that he wants to apologise for the shit that he’s pulled, and he wants Woojin to listen.

“I’m really sorry for running away ten years ago.”

He heaves because he feels like words have released the gates that he’s tugged and pulled at to restrain all of his suppressed emotions. Woojin doesn’t say anything, and maybe, Jihoon is glad that he isn’t, because it tells him that he’s listening.

“I was afraid of the future, of what was going to happen after we graduated from high school, and I was too stupid to know the consequences of my stubbornness,” Jihoon barely breathes out. “It’s why I ran away from you, ran away from Busan to come to Seoul, and I stopped talking to everyone from ten years ago.”

“But I _was_ stupid after all, thinking that running away would solve all the problems, but it didn’t.”

He thinks of all the countless nights that he spent awake, lying on his bed, pressing his hands to the sides of his heads, in an attempt to forcefully repress the memories filled with regret and pain. He thinks of all the words on papers that he’s written, for writing music became the only outlet that he could take on.

“So, I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done.”

Maybe he’s still drunk from the time that they binge-watched Gintama together in Woojin’s bed, and Gintoki’s words rang loud from the speaker. Jihoon remembers how their hands were too close under the warm duvets, almost touching, and the scent of tension that hung heavy in the air.

Jihoon knows that he’s still hung up on the memories of the summer from ten years ago, and he wants to wake up from that moment, wants to give it another go, and wants to hold onto Woojin’s hand tightly and firmly, unlike the cowardly self that he used to be.

“Woojin-ah,” Jihoon says, looking up from the ground. He feels himself burning up, from the desires that threaten to consume him, in the same way that he’s always associated Woojin to the burning fire that engulfs. But this time, he isn’t afraid of the fire, and he _knows_ that he isn’t stupid and reckless anymore.

“Please give me another chance.”

He looks away from Woojin. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard to be able to look at him with a straight gaze, not when his heart is beating so fast, so quick.

“I know that it’s too soon for me to prove that I’ve changed from the past ten years. In fact, I don’t think I have. I’d never been able to move on properly, but I’d been deceiving myself into thinking that I did. But if there’s anything that I’m confident of, that I’m sure of, is that even after these ten years, I still…”

But, this time, he looks up, and he hopes, he fucking hopes on every god out there, and prays that the sincerity spreads and can be conveyed to Woojin: “... love you.”

Silence wraps around them both, and Jihoon feels his palm becoming clammy with sweat, of the fear and yet, anticipation of what Woojin would say.

“I never moved on properly from you too, you know.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen at the words, and there’s a small chuckle from Woojin’s mouth that follows after.

“We were both young and stupid, and we weren’t willing to admit when we fucked up,” Woojin says softly. It makes Jihoon think of all the stupid fights over everything and nothing that they had. It was everything and nothing, but maybe, they had snowballed and accumulated into pressure, and if neither of them were willing to talk, then the problems would never be resolved, and neither of them would be able to move on. “But we aren’t the same person as we were in the past.”

“Jihoon-ah,” Woojin says, walking over slowly and taking Jihoon’s sweaty hands into his own. “I can’t say for sure right now, that I want to try things out with you again. It’s hard for me to agree to do so, when we’re both painfully bound by the past.”

“But give me time to think about it, and I will give you my answer.”

Woojin’s eyes shine with the fire that Jihoon remembers.

 

—

 

So Jihoon gives Woojin time.

It’s pretty easy for Jihoon to give Woojin the time that they need, especially since Woojin’s busy polishing up the the choreography and Jihoon can lock himself up in his studio to work on new songs or to just rot around while playing Smash Bros on his Switch.

But even Jihoon gets tired of playing games, and he isn’t exactly in a mood to write a new song either. He finds it hard to get his concentration down, to put his fingers on the keyboard and move his hand to click on the various mixing tools. All he can think about is Woojin, Woojin, Woojin—and he doesn’t want to admit it but, he’s afraid. He’s not sure if he’s fearful of the rejection or the acceptance. And as much as Jihoon doesn’t want to think of what Woojin’s response would be, all his mind strays to is the thoughts of Park Woojin, and the times of the past.

He lets his feet take him away, and he finds himself entering a small shop near the neighbourhood after hearing his stomach rumble from within.

It’s one of those small restaurants owned by the neighbourhood auntie, with a rustic charm and memories seeped into the wooden floors and pillars in the building. It’s the first time that Jihoon has stumbled into a shop like this, considering that he’s been living in this neighbourhood for the past few years. Okay, maybe, it shouldn’t be too unexpected, considering the amount of delivery that Jihoon has ordered, and the number of times that Jinyoung had come over to his studio, placing a pack of hot food on his head and reminding him that he needs to fucking eat too.

He doesn’t notice it when he first enters the shop, taking his time to take in the surroundings of the restaurant. Jihoon doesn’t quite realise that he’s someone who spaces out, but he does like to take his time to look at his surroundings, as anything that happens could turn into inspiration for his music.

“Yo.”

It’s a voice that is loud against the serenity of the shop, and Jihoon turns to the direction of the voice.

It’s Park Woojin, what the fuck.

He’s right there, sitting at the end of the restaurant, bright red hair catching the light that filtered in through the window, and snaggletooth peeking out from the side of his mouth. There’s a bowl of stew sitting in front of him, and Jihoon doesn’t know what to do but blink.

He’s pretty sure he looks like a fucking goldfish, like an idiot who doesn’t know what to do but Woojin waves him over.

“Hi?” Jihoon scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, at a loss at what he should be do or say.

“Hi,” Woojin greets back.

It’s fucking awkward and silence washes over them and it’s a while later that Woojin points out: “You aren’t going to order anything?”

“Ah.” Jihoon feels his face flushing in embarrassment, and it’s horribly timely how his stomach rumbles again at this time; and the neighbourhood aunty makes her way over to their table to hand him a menu.

Jihoon is a creature of habit and he doesn’t take long before selecting something off the menu. He walks over to the cashier to order and to pay for his food before settling back in the seat in front of Woojin. He hadn’t noticed till now, but Woojin hadn’t touched his food ever since Jihoon sat in front of him; and Jihoon remembers this side of Woojin all too well: the Woojin who minded his manners a little too strictly and it somehow, brings a soft smile onto Jihoon’s face.

When the food is prepared, the aunty brings the bowl of stew over and places it in front of Jihoon.

“Dwaeji gukbap?” Woojin chuckles. “It’s like neither of us have changed.”

Jihoon looks over to see the _same fucking stew_ in front of Woojin, with the _ssamjang_ and garlic next to the bowls and Jihoon finds himself laughing softly, and so does Woojin and it’s like nothing has changed.

 

—

 

It’s only several more days before Daniel’s song is to be released. They’ve already finished up all the finishing touches to Daniel’s new dance track.

It’s become a ritual of sorts, for all of Daniel’s involved crew to come together to watch the charts move as the song gets released. It isn’t the first time that JIhoon is invited to the event, for he’s worked on multiple of Daniel’s other songs. But it feels like he’s been pranked or something, because when he enters the room, it’s dark and there isn’t a single soul that is inside.

He convinces himself, that maybe everyone else is just slightly late because Jihoon _is_ ten minutes early.

Settling on the black couch at the back of the dance room, he’s reminded of the time that he stepped into the dance room, tumbling right in front of Woojin’s face, and having Woojin help him up from the floor. It hadn’t been a time too long ago, but it feels like it’s settled to become a distant memory, from how different Jihoon knows the him from the then and the him from the now have become.

The door opens with a loud bang, and Woojin walks into the room. His presence is as domineering as Jihoon has come to associate him with, and there’s a white GS25 plastic bag that captures Jihoon’s attention as Woojin is dressed in an all-black ensemble.

Woojin stops right in front of Jihoon, extending a hand into the GS25 bag. He smiles as he takes out something from the bag, and it’s the bright neon orange packaging that makes the sides of Jihoon’s eyes water. He feels so fucking stupid for letting the waterworks run as Woojin laughs, but he’s tearing the packaging and pulling the orange popsicle out, and holding it in front of Jihoon.

“Here you go, you stupid baby.”

Jihoon wants to retort that he isn’t one, but he doesn’t trust his voice, not when he’s sniffing like fuck. But he does trust his body that reaches out to hold onto Woojin’s neck, pulling him into a senseless kiss.

He vaguely hears the _splat_ of the melting popsicle that hits the floor.

And Jihoon thinks: that as much as he tried to run away, Park Woojin never left his mind, his body, his heart, and remained as bright, as sour, as sweet as the orange-scented Vitamin C that he’d always tried to dab away at the scars with all these years.

He lets the smell of orange waft through his senses.

  


**Author's Note:**

> a small shout out to r for helping me hold my hand as i was developing the ideas, the mods for organising the fic exchange. thank you for helping to make 2018 come to a beautiful end.


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